Between
by silverfox2702
Summary: Al is restored. Ed rejoins the military. Mustang isn't sure what to make of this. Part 2: Ed tells his side of the story and joins Mustang for the showdown. Divergences from canon, may be spoilery for homunculi-related situations.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. Making no money off of this.

Beta'ed by the lovely Jaya Mitai, who deserves a lapful of purring kitties for putting up with me. Any mistakes likely due to my further tweaking things around.

-.-

Their first game lasted thirteen minutes.

He'd assumed Havoc or Breda had put Fullmetal up to it, so he leaned back in his chair and waited for the expected outburst.

It never came.

A baleful golden glare fixed him, daring him to mention even _one_ word on how _short_ the game had been, and satisfied his opponent had no plans to redecorate the inside of his office, Fullmetal had turned his attention back to the chessboard, fingers of his left hand drumming thoughtfully against the table.

He was, Roy realized after a moment, replaying the game in his head.

-.-

He moved another pawn into place and watched Fullmetal watch him.

The games had continued, much to his bemusement. He might have chalked it up to the way Fullmetal never went down without kicking and screaming the whole way; perhaps the game wasn't over to Fullmetal until he had won, and indeed his progress over the last few months had been astounding, but what surprised him most was how _peaceful_ the whole process had been. Fullmetal had never been gracious in defeat, but he'd simply walked in a few days later, calmly demanded a rematch that he'd attacked with intense control, and here they were, a month _and how many "rematches" had it been?_ later, still at it.

_Why here? Why now?_

"Why are you here?" he asked carefully as he waited for Fullmetal to make the next move. The silence would have been companionable if it had been Hughes or Riza (and he would worry when the day came that one of the others did not have some sort of odd remark to interject during a match), but Fullmetal had returned, three months after the Elrics had disappeared off the face of Amestris, uncharacteristically silent, tension still humming tightly where his ranting and insults had once been.

The boy looked up, snorted. "You know why I'm here."

And he did know, had seen that same expression once long ago in a mirror, before the extra stars had been added to his shoulders. The mirror was probably dust now, Maes had swept up the broken pieces and thrown them out while he'd been huddled, shivering on the couch. He'd seen that expression before, but unlike him, perhaps Edward could actually _do_ something with it, here, now, and when had he ever been able to turn Edward away from anything? And the relief he'd felt at the Elrics being alive and well, the rush of delight, _pride_, undeserved, that Ed was restored and Al had his body back, the anger, stupid,_stupid_ boy to waltz back into Headquarters when here had been the Elrics' chance to quietly disappear, escape safe from the turmoil that was yet to come, _now was not the time to be coming back dammit,_ _he owed them that much peace after all he'd directly or indirectly done to them_---had vanished, unimportant for now, to be replaced with the heavy sinking of acceptance. He owed them, but Edward wanted him to pay it back another way.

"I know you wanted to help the people you felt you should have helped while you were journeying," he replied, patiently. "But you've done all you had planned to do in the few months since, why are you still here?"

"This job never ends." Fullmetal pushed a bishop over, expression blank.

Roy hummed and captured a piece with a knight. "But why the military? An alchemist like you could easily work up similar funding on your own?"

A smirk flitted across the boy's features, and while his masks still dropped much too easily, Roy had already trained him too well. "Was that a compliment, Mustang?" His eyes narrowed slightly. "Or are you trying to warn me about something?"

He kept his expression neutral, Edward was a wild card that required careful placing; it had been difficult enough to put him in just enough trouble to achieve the desired results when he was younger. The Ed that had returned to them was sharper, older, though just as volatile, and he did not, did not, want to set off a reaction, because _he_ knew, even if Fullmetal didn't, that that clause had never been in the contract, because Fullmetal, despite his reputation, was better suited for reconstruction than destruction.

A sudden, terrible thought struck him, and he breathed it before his tongue had processed the command to stop. "Is it because of Al?"

Golden eyes widened, then went flat. "You think I'm here because I had a falling out with Al? As some kind of punishment on myself?"

And he might have dug his own grave deeper, protested that Hughes' reports showed that Al was still recovering, adjusting to his new body, why would Ed leave his brother behind at a time like this? But the incredulous look in Fullmetal's glare and the wistful note when he said his brother's name had already convinced him this was not the case.

"Al is fine. We're fine." A gloved hand swiped one of his pieces out of the way, and Roy let out a breath. He had been silly to think that anything had come between them.

-.-

The bar smelled of smoke and grease; dim yellow lighting hiding the scuffs and stains on the counter. He leaned forward to give Sandy a kiss, chocolate truffle box tucked safely inside his jacket. She tittered and waved at him, and he smiled fondly at her amused eye roll; the silver ribbon had been a nice touch. Picking up his drink, he was making his way to one of the small side tables when a strong hand gripped his elbow. Tensing, he turned, and the identity of his accoster did not help him relax.

"Fullmetal," he drawled, raising an eyebrow. "Fancy meeting you here."

Fullmetal snorted and tugged him over; they were headed for the other side of the room now, and the sight of a familiar shaggy head caused him to forget to pay attention to what Fullmetal was saying.

What is _he_ doing here? And what is _Fullmetal_ doing here?

He averted his eyes before Borjim saw him watching, but the chocolate box was heavy in his mind, and he was grateful he'd planned for Riza to pick him up in an hour so they could confirm the contents later that night. There should be time to drop Fullmetal off at the dorms first, after he found out why exactly the young man was here.

"---legal and I do know how to drink," Fullmetal was griping.

"I never said you_couldn't_ be here, Fullmetal," he commented mildly, "I want to know _why_ you are here."

"I said I owed you lunch if I lost the last game; I figured a drink is the same. Geez, if I'd known you wouldn't even remember I shouldn't have bothered."

"A drink for a lunch?" he purred, senses sliding fully into defense mode. "Isn't that kind of cheap, Fullmetal?"

Fullmetal's eye roll was much more obvious than Sandy's. "Fine then, two. You can't taste the difference between that and water after the first one anyways, so what's the point of getting you more?"

He relaxed slightly; so not out to get him drunk then; and they were moving away from the man at the end of the counter. But even as he made a quip about alcohol tolerance and height, he couldn't help watching carefully for any signs that Edward knew Borjim or Borjim knew Ed.

-.-

"You tend to have a hard time letting go of pieces," Fullmetal commented, and Roy snapped his attention back to the present.

"How so?" Outwardly, in front of other people, they often interacted as if Edward was still fourteen, but he had known, known for a long time the boy was not. It was safer though, safer for both of them if they did not rock that boat just now. At least that was what Roy told himself. He still wasn't sure what Fullmetal was holding back; the Fullmetal of fourteen had never been hesitant about speaking his mind. But it had been a long day, would be a longer week, he was tired, and for once, even if it was a staged production, it might be nice to let someone in.

"You use them to your full advantage, but you can't seem to treat them as pieces. A lot of times you are too slow to let them go; it will cost you."

Roy frowned, mind on alert again from its previous relaxed state, and Edward seemed to sense something from his expression, because instead of waiting for Roy to comment on how he still hadn't lost any of their games so far, he half changed the direction of the conversation by adding, "You don't play like you think of yourself as the king, either."

A hum of adrenaline was sparking down his neck, but he forced himself to smile. "Very astute, Fullmetal."

"_If your opponent knows how to play chess, play a few games with him,_" _Sensei had told him, back when he'd wanted to light the whole bundle of sticks on fire and could not understand why someone would want to burn just the one on top of the pile_. "_There is no better way to learn his moves than on a chessboard. But at the same time, as with all things, it will leave you exposed as well._"

"People use different mindsets when playing chess, but I prefer not to think of myself as the king." There, that should be loud enough and clear enough for anyone who might be listening. He felt his gut clench and hoped it was only his paranoia that read too much into Fullmetal's question.

"_Don't think of yourself as the king when you are playing,_" _Sensei had added with a frown._ "_Think of yourself as the game_."

-.-

The door to the outer office slammed open with a bang, and he let his newspaper drop carefully over the opened files on his desk.

Expecting Fullmetal, he prepared his all-purpose smirk, but it was Havoc who stormed through and dumped a garishly large bouquet of lilies, roses, and _were those moonbeams?_ on the coffee table in front of the sofa.

"Cynthia wanted me to bring these to you," Havoc snarled, before stomping out to his desk.

He circled the bouquet cautiously; from the card it seemed that he was sending a get well gift to General Wichar, recovering from a broken leg in Central Hospital. Which he'd planned to do, of course, just not with this particular bouquet. So they obviously knew him well enough to know that he got all his flowers at Cindy's shop, but Cindy knew him better, and he made a mental note to give his sincere thanks to both Cindy and Jean later. Raising his right hand, a carefully controlled snap reduced the flowers to a fragrant pile of ash, exposing the two small devices contained within. They would have fallen out if someone had tried to remove some of the wrapping to place the flowers in a vase, he noted.

Walking to his doorway, he motioned for Fuery to come in, but he was fairly certain he already knew what they were. The new long-distance listening devices were very expensive, and some of the parts used were so difficult to make by hand they were actually easier to transmute.

-.-

"Dushville isn't too happy with the military." Fullmetal's boot thumped against the coffee table. "They think they're being sold out as it is and they'll be first to be sacrificed if war starts on that front." He looked at Roy, openly calculating, and inwardly, Roy flinched.

"What about Baines?" he asked instead, sidestepping the challenge.

Fullmetal huffed his bangs out of the way. "Doing himself no favors with the townspeople, but the higher-ups probably love him. Good thing I don't like wearing the uniform, huh?" The grin was cocky, selfsure, and if the eyes had been more open, he might have imagined a younger Edward, triumphant after a mission, the faintest hope that this time he would get only praise, and Roy could never indulge him completely, much as he wished, because Edward would need to stand on his own, their paths would diverge soon enough. He quashed the odd tightening in his chest and instead dismissed the boy.

_I am running out of time._

"Brennan is in charge of spying on you," Fullmetal growled softly as he moved past him to the door.

He stood there frozen for a minute, unsure whether or not Fullmetal's new position in the game had just become clear.

-.-

When he allowed himself to think about it, he'd always thought that the Elrics would just leave. Leave, disappear, nothing more to do with the military or himself. So when Edward and Alphonse had vanished, nowhere to be found for a good three months before turning up safe and restored in Risembul, there had been a pang of regret none of the people they'd known in the military had been contacted and told that they were safe, but it had been expected, and while he'd wished Hughes and the rest of his command, if not himself, could be granted some closure with the Elrics (and he knew they were dangerously fond of their little mascots as well), he knew why the Elrics had not risked it and respected that decision. He had hoped, when he allowed himself to hope, with a tingling tongue and hazy head, that perhaps Edward would understand, at least, one day, understand why he'd done what he did, stringing them along and never putting them on equal footing like Edward had craved; understand, if not forgive. It had been an illusion, an illusion for the higher-ups and an illusion for the Elrics, both made by him. One of them had to hold, and he'd always known that one day in the future the other one wouldn't, so he had expected nothing more, dared expect nothing more.

But Fullmetal had come back. Fullmetal had come back tight and tense and silent on the issues he had been so vocal about before. Not obedient, he was quick to dismiss any order he disagreed with, but he no longer pushed against the illusion as he once had, demanding to see behind the mirror. Maturity, perhaps? Maybe he had simply accepted, and this was his grudging defeat. But perhaps he knew, knew _what_ Roy had been doing, but Roy had never given him the _why_. He'd considered it, but it would have been death for himself and Fullmetal back then, even more so now. So perhaps this was equivalent exchange, the way Fullmetal tracked his movements, appeared in odd places at odd times, leaned when he'd been standing straight before, but not in any direction he could recognize, and he probably deserved it, in a twisted way, but he had never, ever planned to drag Fullmetal down.

So he remained silent, took Fullmetal's behavior in stride, reminded himself not to get too close, because Fullmetal had set up his own rules to play by, and Roy was the one at loss, but he knew his puzzle was safe, not even Hughes or his people had all the pieces, and even if he did not know what Fullmetal _did_ want, the reports he received also showed his enemies had not made a move on Fullmetal's family, had not gotten from Fullmetal what _they_ wanted; he could not afford to pretend, but for now he wanted to pretend, so this, for the moment, was enough.

-.-

He shifted stiffly under the covers, the bandage was soaking through again, but he didn't feel like changing it. It was surprising, how close they'd gotten to him, but what he couldn't wrap his head around was that his enemies had been targeting Havoc. Tomorrow morning they would both be at work and no one would know that he had a gash in his side and Havoc had several nasty bumps from pulling them both to safety, but for now, he brooded in the silence and darkness.

There had been an interruption of some sort, a commotion that had distracted their attackers, but how had their attackers known he and Havoc would be there in that place at that time in the first place? He tried to keep his thoughts away from Edward, the only one close enough to him to know that didn't know, tried to keep his mind off the way the boy had been behaving since he'd returned, the mixed signals he'd sent, offering himself as a pawn, or as if trying to hide that he was someone else's pawn.

He hadn't wanted to trouble Hughes with this, none of the reports he'd received showed any evidence of Edward's presence, he was just jumpy, he told himself. But he knew he had been afraid, afraid of losing Hughes' trust, Edward's trust, afraid of facing the truth when he'd sworn never to run again. It had taken a torn uniform and bloodstained gloves to remind him of his balance, what was at stake. If it was Edward, there were ways the problem could be removed without compromising anyone, and he should have done so long ago, moved Fullmetal away from his proximity when he knew full well he had only been trying to convince himself he had not completely failed where the Elrics were concerned. If it was not Edward, someone had gotten close enough that they might very well have evidence of his plans. Either way, time was short, and he needed to act soon.

-.-

Rumors of war breaking out in the west were spreading like wildfire, and he knew grimly that they would soon be true. The letter lay innocently on his desk, thick and official, he was so preoccupied refreshing his memories of the western front that at first he did not process what he was reading.

The letter landed on his desk as his stomach went cold, was quickly snatched up and read again, hand shaking.

Proof of treason. Which would be exposed unless they came to a favorable agreement in the little discussion planned for a few days from now. He had planned to commit treason all along, that part did not surprise him. The shock came from the fact that the proof uncovered and laid out before him was true, and every single accusation could be backed up. As if someone had known all along and had only been waiting for him to get a bit farther before cutting him off. A promise that his men would be unharmed and none the wiser if he complied, and he knew, knew, they had no hope of success if they sprang their trap now, he knew they would follow him, but he had no intention of bringing them to hell with him.

Pacing, he read the list of names again, his men, Hughes and Gracia and Elysia, his contacts, the girls, and heart stopping, he saw the name buried unobtrusively in the middle.

He had no right to feel this relief, did not deserve to feel this glorious rush of blessing that perhaps he had not completely failed, but Edward's name on the list snapped everything into focus and he knew his goals now, knew what needed to be done. He knew it was true, Edward hadn't even been in his command when some of the events had occurred, and the people who had put together this letter obviously knew him well enough to know that he had been very fond of the Elrics despite appearances, and would protect them as his own. They had not counted on his very human doubt, his own paranoia in himself and in Fullmetal, to turn this drive into focus, one last chance to do things right.

Slipping the letter into a pocket, he sat down to plan.

-.-

It had been not long after he'd returned from Ishbal. He knew what he wanted to do but still had no idea how to really go about doing it, and it had made him reckless and hasty. The files had slipped from his hands as he'd stood there in shock, chances blown before he'd even begun, and he had only been able to hope that Maes would not do anything stupid to try to help him, because it was his fault, he'd brought this upon himself, and really, what kind of future Fuhrer would be dumb enough to be caught in the restricted section?

General Grumman had looked at him quietly over his glasses and asked steadily, "Tell me, Roy Mustang, what would you do if there was another civil war?"

He had sensed no deceit in the question, and if he was going to be executed as an idiot, he decided at least one person would know how he truly felt about the situation.

"I would stop it."

He must have made a laughable sight, still broken from his nightmares, a mess both inside and out. General Grumman had looked him over and said quietly, "Remember that."

The door closed silently, and shakily, he retrieved the files.

-.-

Hughes knew. He suspected Riza knew as well. Hughes had known from the beginning, seen him through the worst, and as such, could no longer comment on it because they both knew how every conversation would end. Instead, he invited Roy over for dinner, bothered him endlessly with updates on what Elysia was doing, and otherwise found reasons to constantly nose into Roy's quiet time. Riza sensed it but had never confronted him, she wordlessly reminded him with her presence, her actions, of why she disapproved and why she was here.

He had two goals.

They tied into one goal because he was determined that was the way it would go, but if he broke it down, in dreams he never told anyone about, there were two goals.

He would become Fuhrer, but he wanted it to be enough.

It would be enough, maybe, rushing head on to meet a red-eyed serial killer in the rainy streets of Central, enough to throw himself in front of the people he wanted to protect, enough to shoulder the blame, take the punishment, hide the evidence, leave them all behind, because he had chosen men that were loyal to himself, but more importantly, men that were loyal to his cause. He wanted to see everything through to the end, his friends did not deserve to have things end like this, but the only promise he had given them was his protection, and he knew they would go on without him, not just for his goal, but also their own. He'd hidden this second goal even from himself, but it was the best ending he could think of right now; they did not have the power to pull off the whole plan as it was, but he had enough allies to give them protection and to keep the rest of their plans alive. He had a private meeting with the Fuhrer in a week, a meeting in which the higher-ups were sure he had no cards left to play. Perhaps this could be another way to atone; maybe, maybe, it would be enough. If, no_when_, he succeeded, it would stop the war about to erupt, and he still had time to pull a few strings and ensure the right kind of upheaval would occur in its wake providing the next stage for their original plans. Perhaps, finally, in some other way, not scrawled out in chalk and paint and blood and tears and dust and sweat and alcohol and madness on his dorm room floor, selfishly, it would finally, finally, be enough.

-.-

The clock chimed nine, and he remembered what it had felt like in Ishbal, preparing your weapons, waiting for daybreak and the next attack, feeling so tired you didn't care if you were killed in your sleep or not, but ancient instincts reminding you that you would regret it better with your weapons ready than without.

It was still the same, and all these years later all he'd done was come full circle.

The banging on the door caused him to look up from where he was carefully clearing any incriminating evidence out of his library, ready for one last blaze in the stone fireplace.

"Edward," he said in surprise, and he realized he'd mentally been calling Fullmetal "Edward" more often in the last few days, perhaps in some pathetic attempt to construct a sense of the closeness he'd wished they had in return for the young man's belief in him. For Edward had been trying to help him, and he had only himself to blame if Ed's methods had resulted in more confusion than understanding. "Shouldn't you be off on that mission to Alembic?"

A strong fist twisted in his collar and he found himself suddenly dragged to eye level with Fullmetal.

"You are _not_ going to that meeting alone tomorrow!" Fullmetal yelled, and he gaped, gaped openly, floored.

"Look, I know…I did this the wrong way, okay?" And Roy was at a loss, unable to even dredge up an accusatory question or even smirk that that was the one thing the Fuhrer would _not_ be expecting him to do with all his men under watch liable to be picked off at any minute. He was at a loss and he didn't explain that he'd placed people to watch, to prove, without knowing what they would be looking for, that none of his people would be involved in the attack tomorrow, and what few allies he had among the higher ranks were ready to stop any retaliatory action towards his command.

He found himself being pushed roughly backwards, and stumbling, he tried to right himself, decide what to do about Edward who never made things easy and always came up at the last possible moment, but Fullmetal shoved him into his armchair roughly and growled, "Sit."

He obeyed, still blinking as Edward took the opposite seat and blocked the light from the table lamp for a moment. There was silence then, as Edward fidgeted for what he wanted to say, and Roy waited, ready to use anything Edward could come up with to turn him away again.

"When we got Al his body back," Fullmetal began, and Roy wondered if he was stalling, avoiding the topic, but he wanted to know what had happened when the Elrics had vanished, so he let it go with a nod.

Ed looked surprised, but shifted in his seat and continued, and Roy laughed inwardly to note how the boy's body language stated he was blocking Roy's access to the door.

"We gave more than enough this time." The boy's eyes darkened and Roy, almost unbelieving, wanted to ask how? What? _What did you give that was worth more than body and soul?_ But Edward would stop if he did, so he held it in. "But the Gate never gives anything for free."

_Gate?_

"I thought I'd failed at first, we were both pulled in and I lost sight of Al." Roy nodded as Fullmetal shuddered and pulled a knee up on the chair. "But I saw the door open and Al get thrown out again, and I thought "Al's gonna kill me" but I didn't mind, really, Al was worth it."

He was confused now, even as Fullmetal's story was becoming clearer, and clearing his throat, he attempted to speak but was silenced with a flat look.

"It was dark inside the Gate, quiet. I kept waiting for it to tear me apart again, but none of those things made a move. And the Gate asked me what I wanted.

"I thought it was just my mind wandering, I didn't know it was the Gate because it didn't take on a form and speak to me like it did the first time. So I thought it was just something _I'd_ come up with to think about, probable end of existence and all, and I realized Al was okay now, Winry and Granny Pinako would be okay, and hopefully teacher would be able to prevent Al from trying to do anything stupid. I wanted to see them again, say goodbye or something, but they already knew what we had been planning and I didn't really need to."

Edward looked Roy straight in the eye.

"I wanted to tell you," he said, "tell you and Lieutenant Colonel Hughes and Lieutenant Hawkeye and all the rest of the people what had happened to us and not to worry because we hadn't said anything to you when we set off, but really, you weren't too bad considering what could have happened to us, and you didn't really deserve never knowing."

He looked away.

"The Gate showed me…" Edward's voice slowed, and he rubbed his fingers on the arm of the chair. "It showed me part of a past and half of a future." Bright gold eyes challenged him to laugh, and mutely, he stared back.

"It showed me what was…and what might be…if I let it go like that."

Now that was pushing belief just a little too far, even if he had no idea what the Gate was but trusted Edward to know more about the darker side of alchemy than he did. "Wait a minute, you…what…why didn't you---"

"Who would have believed me? You don't believe me, I didn't believe me! I freaked Al out when I predicted what was going to happen, I thought they were just memories or something! Things always happened halfway and I didn't want to know, but I didn't know the end, either! The Gate left me wondering and I didn't know what to do!" Edward flumped back into the armchair and scrubbed his face.

"I knew you were planning something even before I came back but I didn't know what. The gate gave me a better idea but I still couldn't be sure." Fullmetal looked away then, and transfixed, Roy waited. "I—Al said—he said he would throw me out of the house if I didn't stop pacing around and _do_ something about it like I wanted to." An annoyed huff. "Al isn't strong enough to travel yet, he couldn't come with me. And I didn't really know what I wanted to do or how to do it, I just knew that some things shouldn't be allowed to happen. So I started by watching you."

Edward matched Roy's raised eyebrow with one of his own and snorted. "You're always in the thick of things anyways, it was a good place to start. I've seen what you're trying to do Mustang, and while I don't always agree with your methods, I do agree with your goal and there are a lot worse people that I could be backing."

He was halfway to making a snarky comment about what a wonderful compliment that was when Edward's words fully sank in. He gaped for a split second, finger pointing in surprise, before he shut his mouth quickly with a snap. The first sentence that came out was, "Alphonse is going to kill me."

"Yes he will," Edward seemed almost cheerful. "But I told him it would be a lot easier for me to help keep you from getting killed than if I had to go and take out whoever offed you so I wouldn't feel so bad about all the effort I put into watching out for your sorry ass."

The sky was falling and he could only watch in wonderment as pieces crashed around him.

"Wait Fullmetal, so you're saying--"

"I went about it the wrong way, we're both idiots when it comes to this sort of thing," and Roy snorted as well, "but I'm not letting you go on your suicide mission alone tomorrow, Mustang. A bit of work and we can build on your plans--"

And he had to ask then, had to know even as he knew it might be better not to know—

"Full—Edward, this, tomorrow, do you--?"

He shook his head, almost violently. "No. I used up all my freebies. I almost missed it. I remembered some things Hughes was saying right before I left about how you'd been different in the office lately. Roy Mustang is too much of a bastard to give up, remember?" And it was a tight grin, unsure if he'd pushed things too far but charging in anyways, and Roy felt a well of something clean and warm and overwhelming flood through him.

Forgiven again, when he had no right to be. Someone up there must really hate him.

Smiling for what felt like the first time in months, he nodded. And if his voice was slightly hoarse, Edward had the decency not to notice.

"Fine, so what's your plan?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Don't own FMA. Making no money off of this.

Notes: Things have gone off into AU land where the homunculi are concerned. Sunshine, cinnamon, and honey for the most wonderful Jaya Mitai for the beta and letting me borrow concepts and characters from her brilliant Perfect After All series.

-x-

_She h__a__ngs above him,__ the__ trailing dark hair shielding her face and chest, but he kn__o__ws what he will see. __A__ slim, silver blade__ flashing dully__ a hand's width beneath the hollow of her throat pinn__ing__ her to the wall__,__ blood soaking silently into her black dress._

No.

_I have been here before, I have seen it, leave me alone!_

_She lift__s__ her head, blood bubbling __over__ full lips__, stark against her pale face__._

"_Alchemist."_

No.

_He backs away, but the array is under him, he can feel it waiting, the thrum of energy mocking._

_Her eyes focus and darken as the full lips thin, long dark hair evaporating under his frozen gaze, the array, eager, whisper__ing__ its secrets._

_Blood runs down the white dress shirt, he's __rarely__ seen the man without his jacket,__ and it should be unfamiliar,__ but even at this distance, he knows, and he chokes._

_A look of resignation, her look,__ and his look, and her look,__ repeated._

_Fullmetal!_

_Activate the array!_

-x-

Three months ago he would have sneered at the thought of standing here, meeting these people, smiling and bowing and teasing around his answers and doing anything other than just storming in, taking the place down, and locking all the goons in jail. But the next move from Colonel Langston would only occur if the operation was allowed to continue, and he needed the man down more than his minions. He was just about to give in and lean his head back against the wall for a moment when the door creaked open.

"Major Elric," an oily voice greeted.

He ground his teeth together at the way the man lingered on his rank, gaze obviously implying Ed should not outrank him, alchemist or no.

"Lieutenant," he replied coolly. Well, this was some way to win him over to their side. But then again, he'd been the one to carefully maneuver his way in with Langston and Sherman likely didn't appreciate his presence.

The man gave a stiff smile and motioned for him to follow.

He had his charming speech planned, expressions and inflections painstakingly practiced; these men didn't know him well enough, they only had his reputation to go by and he'd had practice manipulating his reputation to his advantage already when he was younger hadn't he?

_Channel the bastard_, he thought, walking smoothly behind his guide, refusing to give in to instinct and blatantly scan the room for danger like the imposter he was.

_Or maybe…play it as you would a game of chess._

-x-

They were sitting together in Al's room having breakfast; curtains fluttering in the warm breeze, the occasional bird chirping, making the absolute normalness of the situation all the more surreal. The morning paper had been dismembered, sectioned among the various people in the room; Ed reached out and snagged a page from under the plate of waffles and balanced it on his lap.

"Military Commander of West City Arrested for Embezzlement, Replacement to be Decided Next Week."

_There was smoke in the air and something burning not too far away, angry marks in the earth where explosions had ripped apart the soil, the sound of distant gunshots. Lieutenant Hawkeye appeared, dirt streaked and grim, supporting a slumped figure with an arm draped around her shoulders. She saw him standing there and started in surprise—_

_--the Colonel walked down the dim hallway, head up, shoulders squared. Doors loomed before him, he's never been inside this set, but they're the same, always the same and the arms will reach out as they open, grasping, and Mustang's not going to walk out those doors again—_

"Brother?" Al's worried voice called him back and he realized he was standing, shaking, Winry and Pinako looking up at him in concern, the newspaper crumpled on the ground.

"I'm fine, Al," he managed to croak, convincing no one.

_What do you want?_

A chittering of dark fingers across his spine.

_I?_

_We?_

_Want nothing__.__ What do YOU want?_

…bastards_._

-x-

The woman leans against the doorway, posture sultry, eyes sharp. He feels his hackles rise knowing he's seen her somewhere before but unable to remember; she speaks of his secrets and he growls, lunging.

Sharp nails elongate and pin him; he moves to strike back, but she withdraws easily, unimpressed.

"I have a story to tell, Alchemist. Whether or not you believe it, I think it would be wise to listen." She lists a place; the location gives them all the advantages, but the curl of her lips suggests she feels herself in no danger either way.

-x-

They meet her in the corner of a café, late afternoon and only a third full, the nearby chairs and tables strategically arranged for potential leverage. She slides smoothly into the seat opposite them and tells a story of a monster in a human's body searching for a new vessel. A monster that created other monsters to serve her; a monster seeking to make the Stone. Her master has been greatly weakened over the years; only four of her seven servants remain, two sacrificed years prior to destroy the third and never reborn.

"What do you want?" he asks coldly, voice echoed in Al's stiff posture.

"My master uses humans driven to desperation to create the Stone for her. These years she has been focusing on others, like the Scarred Man of Ishbal even when it is apparent that the Fullmetal Alchemist has been searching for the Philosopher's Stone." She smiles thinly at the way he and Al both straighten in alarm and waves vaguely. "Only to those who can sense the pattern in what you seek, Alchemist. But your time is close. Rumors are that Hoenheim of Light has returned from the East and whether my master subdues him or converts him, while she left you alive as a goodwill gesture and lure, now that her prey is near she will use you as bait. Whether Hoenheim will aid his sons or join my master to save them, I do not know, but perhaps you would value a chance to aid yourselves."

The automail leaves dents in the old wooden table as he snarls, "Don't talk about that bastard in front of me, he never cared about us in the first place and I don't care what he gets into or if he's alive or dead--" but Al puts a large hand heavily on his head and asks quietly, "Why are you telling us all this?"

She holds up a locket, a curl of hair tucked inside.

"The scarred one gave me this, and I remembered. Remembered who she used to be and what my master did to her people to prolong her own life. I feel what she would have felt, if she had known the truth of what happened. I have her memories and her conscience; she sees me for what I am and she will not let me rest. I tell you, Alchemists, because by telling you, we may all get what we want."

"And why should we believe you?" he asks, voice strained.

She shrugs. "I could spit up one of my Stones if you like, but the process is not pretty and I doubt it would go unnoticed. Let me tell you about my newest sibling. My master found her abandoned in a little town in the east several years ago. My master has not the strength to revive her fully, so these past years she has only given her enough of the Stones to prevent her from dying but not enough to be truly alive. She dreams, as we all did, before we take on a complete form and the memories are purged by the infusion of the Stones. I hear her cry out for a house on a hill, grassy plains, a swing hanging from a big tree. I hear her call for a tall man with glasses and beard, for her children, her two young sons."

-x-

They walk back to the hotel in silence, the occasional clanking of Al's armor punctuating his brooding.

They had never checked the basement again before they'd burned the house down; there was nothing there he'd wanted…and he had been too afraid. Granny Pinako had grimly told them she had cleaned the scene before anyone could get nosy; neither side had pressed the other for details. Colonel Bastard had been there after them; perhaps he would know something, but he was only stalling, he knew, stalling to once again admit what was already plain from years before.

Blind. He was blind and a coward and he was still standing there, back to the ruins of their home trying to walk away. He had been blind and it was no longer just him, him and Al, it was bigger than he'd ever realized and if the woman's tale proved true—

It no longer mattered. Mattered that he was blind. What was important was not what he had not seen, hadn't wanted to see, what mattered now was what he could still do. What they could still do, because Al was an Elric with everything implied, and he really should listen to his little brother more even if he wouldn't like some of the things he was bound to hear.

There was a pounding of footsteps behind them, the harsh breathing of one not used to running. Ed whirled, automail ready, then stopped dead, eyes wide in surprise.

"Boys," the man panted, hands on his knees.

And it was so anticlimactic, so absolutely ridiculous that this would happen to them _now _of all times, all times free for the choosing, now when he had no choice but to move on, when there was not time to waste for him to dig his heels in and let the raging dark thing in his chest out—

"Father?" Al managed first.

He bit back the scream in his throat. "Hoenheim," he greeted coldly.

-x-

"You're doing _what_?"

Winry sounded angry, but her expression looked lost; Granny Pinako chewed thoughtfully on her pipe and Al backed him quietly with his eyes.

He cursed the Gate again for always doing _this_, bringing that look of silent disappointment or resigned support to the eyes of his friends and family, and he hated it for doing that, hated it, and there would be no _future, calm, other chance, new world, whatever_, unless he tried, Al was right; he'd done it to himself the first time _whatever Al said about sharing the blame_, but now he had a chance to prevent the second _and always, always, a reason, hostage, for doing it_, and he took a deep breath and shook off long, dark fingers, because _he_ was doing this job, he was once again, simply doing what needed to be done.

"I'm sorry." He'd explained already, he and Al had explained, and he waited now to see his judgment, because he was doing it anyways the way it had always been, but he knew better now, should have been old enough to have known better, and he wasn't leaving, sacrificing, it, anyone, behind, again.

"How much did anyone know about why you had the automail?" Pinako's voice startled the three blondes from their stare off.

He floundered, splashing, and Al tossed in an anchor before he did.

"The Colonel knows, and his people. Lieutenant Colonel Hughes. Maybe a few others. But most people should have no idea other than the reasons submitted in Brother's file."

"But people still know you as the Fullmetal Alchemist, and there's no way to bring flesh out of metal that I know of yet, even with the new casings designed to cover automail." Pinako glanced over at her granddaughter.

He saw a spark in Winry's eyes as she faced her grandmother's challenge.

"We'll do it the other way around then." Grabbing him by the collar, she marched him into the workroom, Al trailing curiously behind.

-x-

It was breathtaking work; he wouldn't have expected anything less from the Rockbells. Armor that encased his right arm and left leg, lightweight but sturdy, flexible and strong, easy to move in and remove with enough extra material to form his trademark blade. It wouldn't fool anyone familiar with automail if they were next to him while he punched through a wall, but he was fairly confident most people were not observant enough to pick up on the slight difference that was now in his footsteps.

Mustang had not been surprised at the armor when he'd first walked back in. Hughes had asked about it in that deceptively calm way of his, a hand on Ed's metal-plated wrist when he'd first stopped by the Lieutenant Colonel's office fishing for hints on the atmosphere, and he wasn't sure what kind of test he had passed, but Hughes had nodded, satisfied, and it stood to reason that what Hughes knew, Mustang would also know.

-x-

"The girl at the café said she saw you two going in this direction, she said there was a woman in a dark dress with you."

Ed looked into tawny eyes so similar to his own and saw that the man knew full well what the woman had been.

Seated in their cramped hotel room, he and Al asked; Hoenheim gave answers. Hoenheim's reasons, _reasons?! __Ed__ wanted to laugh_, his sins, and Ed's spite died down to muted confused horror; why he had returned, and Ed felt the years of watching his mother pine, his brother in the armor, his broken road to redemption press in around him smothering, and it was his own fault, his alone, but some part of him had not grown up enough yet to resist flinging some of the anger, poison, out, watch it spatter against Hoenheim's walls, viscous and sticky and stained. He could see Al becoming exasperated with him, but he was trying his best, and it wasn't as if that old bastard seemed to care.

Very old bastard.

He shivered slightly despite himself.

"I say we check out the place tonight. We see if Lust is giving us correct information, we see what we're up against. Just a quick sneak in to check our facts."

"It's too dangerous, you boys just stay out of it; I'll take care of things."

"You weren't around to take care of things when me and Al were growing up so I don't really care what you want to do now, I'm doing what I think needs to be done. If you wanted a say in things, you should have stayed around."

Hoenheim opened his mouth to protest_, I was trying to protect you by staying away, yeah right,_ but Ed snarled and the older man backed down, surprised.

Al broke the uncomfortable silence before Ed could win the staring contest.

"How much time do you have left?" Al asked softly.

"Enough," Hoenheim replied with a sigh. "What is left in this body, enough to finish what needs to be done."

Ed ignored the glance in his direction that asked more than he trusted himself to give.

-x-

_He was running, dodging, trying to find a chance to attack, but the other man was too fast and why didn't he have a weapon? He wanted to clap his hands together but his body wasn't obeying__; he was moving to another's commands,__ a puppet, trapped. _

_The edge of a blade whistled toward him; with a cry, he managed to wrest control over his body and brought his hands together as he rolled out of the way. He prepared the transmutation in his mind, bringing his palms to the earth and—_

_Gloves. Scratchy and larger than his own. Torn flame arrays tattooed on the backs, smeared with blood. The blade pierced his shoulder then, and he screamed and jerked up and back staring into the eyes of—_

_The Fuhrer._

He found himself staring blankly at the dark ceiling of his room with wide eyes, sheets fisted in his hands.

Slowly, his right hand made its way over to his left shoulder, and very carefully, he squeezed. His breath came out in a whoosh and he rolled over, flopping onto his stomach limply, dragging the pillow over his head.

_I'm trying._

_I'm trying!_

It wasn't just Mustang, it was larger than either of them, larger than all of them, a yawning maw that gaped fuzzily in the back of his conscious, too big to fill up, so he clutched at the fragments of the edges to keep them from crumbling, to form a bridge to hold things together because he didn't want to think about crossing otherwise, even as the pieces reflected, echoed back at him, mocking him with parables.

He had a meeting with that snake Junet tomorrow and a mission the day after; he didn't need more reminders of what he was out to stop, he needed sleep.

He also realized suddenly, as he pulled his face out from under the pillow to suck in a breath of fresh air, the Gate had given him no hint as to his own future.

-x-

He saw her hanging, pinned with a mess of gleaming blades to a wooden post standing in an active array halfway across the room. A very fat man with a bald head was trapped, whimpering, in another array not too far from her, the two smaller arrays engulfed by a third that spanned across the whole room, spreading almost to the walls of what had once likely been the ballroom of the ancient mansion. The third array was not active, but it throbbed in its proximity to the others, as if sensing and trying to leech the energy away. He barely had time to wonder how it was possible before a sharp snarl of delighted laughter rang from the side of the room, and Hoenheim was shoving him out of the way, _too fast, what _was_ that?_ a clank, a growl, he turned in time to see Hoenheim clap and latch onto his attacker in a blur of motion. There was a panicked howl and he heard the other scream, _"Bastard!",_ but before he could join the fight, a short command from a new voice called the attacker back.

There was a hint of slender frame and spiky hair cursing in the shadows, then the new voice spoke again.

"Hoenheim. I see you have considered my offer." The speaker came into view, moving slowly but confidently across the array from a side door to stand before them, an old woman, bent nearly double with age, eyes and voice still commanding.

"Dante."

-x-

Dante wasn't supposed to be here; Lust had said her master would be away. Halfway across the room Lust was mouthing silently at him, had probably been trying to catch his attention since she'd made out their forms in the half-light; he knew what she wanted, wanted him to open the Gate with the array carved into the floor while Dante stood upon it, and there were a hundred reasons why he should, could end it, and a hundred more where he couldn't, not like that, and he had not quite been expecting this, this way, _resolve_, though he very well should have; had been hoping, was hoping there might be another way despite it all, and faced with the exchange before him, he was pinned with horrified fascination.

"What do you want, Dante?"

"You know what I want. Surely your own vessel will not hold together much longer."

"I gave you my answer years ago. It hasn't changed."

Dante looked to the side then; glanced casually at first Al, then him, and Hoenheim had clapped his hands together before Ed's palms had touched.

She smirked then; gave a dry laugh and a half bow. "I did not have a chance to invite your sons yet," she murmured regretfully. "But there is someone else here I think you'd all like to meet."

There was a low growling from the figure that had remained in the shadows, but Dante's voice carried over it. "Come in, my child. There are people who wish to see you."

"Beautiful, isn't she? Used up quite a bit of incomplete Stone, but wouldn't you say she was very worth it?"

Hoenheim froze, eyes wide for a split second before he clapped again, and the homunculi of Trisha Elric gracefully moved in front of Dante, large eyes clear and blank. Hoenheim stopped, but evidently the movement was enough of an excuse for the homunculi waiting in the shadows to attack again, and Al was racing forwards into the room to catch the attack, and there was a squeal of metal as the homunculi nimbly ducked and tore Al's right arm off.

He clapped then, clapped while running forward, slamming his palms to the floor; no one was going to touch Al, not while he was alive and not while he was dead, and his transmutation crackled, stronger than he'd been expecting, and Al and the homunculi were dodging and ducking and twisting in a wild dance across the floor and the shadow of his mother was advancing on his father outside the circle and the huge array carved into the stone sensed _power_, and he felt his alchemy twisting away from him, _Yes Alchemist, now, NOW!_ draining, wrenched into another form to run shrieking in blue-white flares across the lines carved in marble. _We have been here centuries, Alchemist; all power inside this array belongs to us. You would do well to remember, but it's a bit too late now._

A high pitched giggle, followed by another. A slow wash of warm light, thick and heavy. A shadow before him.

The Gate.

-x-

_Most of what you brought with you rightfully belonged to us. It was owed to us, long ago._

He floated sluggishly in gold, unable to move.

_But you did open the door for them to return, and for that, I suppose, we must trade. What do you want, Alchemist?_

The figure was blurry, hunched in a corner of the sea of light, and he remembered his previous dealings, remembered that any fool that valued his life would know better than to ask, but he was screwed anyways, and if things came down to the end of it, it had never been about _his_ life. The array came into his mind, glorious and deadly and perfect, throbbing behind his retinas with searing intensity.

_You know what I want._

_Very well, Alchemist._

He caught only a glimpse before the doors closed, but it was enough, everything he'd ever hoped for, Al beautiful and perfect and whole and he'd never see him never know him—

Darkness as the doors groaned and shut.

It was over.

So this is how it would end.

Not the one he'd been expecting, but really not all that far off from what he'd expected. Hoenheim was somewhere outside the array, he and Al had both sent letters back to Risembul just last week--

A soft wheeze, almost like a sigh, if it was possible to sigh in this place.

-x-

"What do you think about leaving Halber in charge of Riverside?" He thumped a boot impatiently against the coffee table as Mustang pondered his next move. His own setup, he'd realized with surprise, was starting to resemble the tactics he'd just used when he'd teamed up with the local law enforcement last week to corner those bandits in Finch. Well, it'd worked pretty well then; it was worth trying again now.

Mustang's moves were still difficult to interpret, but he was starting to pick up on moods. Today it seemed things were closer to home; he'd bet that piece there was Havoc, that one there was likely Breda—

"He might have done better with someone else as his second in command, but he knows the area and people and the transition should be smooth; he's a good solid choice to at least keep things stable."

"You mean the situation in the west?"

Mustang moved a piece and leaned back. "The details are not clear yet and any relevant information is currently still withheld. Your move, Fullmetal."

_Stubborn bastard._

-x-

The second time he woke up he was in Risembul. The first time had been somewhere dark, a cold, hard floor, someone shaking him desperately, calling his name, but he felt like he'd been thrown into a rock crusher, and he didn't even manage to open his eyes before passing out again. But now he was in a bed, his bed in the Rockbell house, and he was stiff, so stiff all over it hurt to shift around, but Al was in the other bed, breathing, _breathing!_ and he felt his own breath catch again, years falling away as he turned on his side to reach across the gap between the two beds knowing that his arm wasn't long enough but it would bring his fingertips just that much closer—

His arm. His real arm and the feel of the sheets on his leg. His real arm and real leg and real brother. He covered his eyes to keep out the glare from the sun for a moment.

When he removed his arm, Hoenheim was hovering above him worriedly.

-x-

"You're leaving again." And the man standing before him looked so _old_, so old and worn and tired and definitely not ready to go anywhere soon and he wondered why he should care.

"Dante had more than one base of operation. It is…of utmost importance to investigate and seal anything…that might still be around that should be taken care of."

Ed shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looked between the door to the bedroom where Al was still resting and the front door facing the road.

"Stay with your brother," his father urged. "Take care of him…you did a better job than I ever did."

He crossed his arms across his chest. "Not without saying goodbye to Al, you don't."

"I already told him. Al knows." Hoenheim's voice was quiet, steady, and he kept his gaze fully on Ed.

"Well, I guess at least this time you told me," Ed growled, turning away to stomp back into his room.

"Edward, wait. I'd like to come back again, when it's over…if you want me back. But only if you do. I've done you boys a lot of harm and I don't know if there's anything I can do now that will mean anything or make it better, but I want to try. If you are willing."

A second chance. And Ed was all too familiar with second chances.

"Stay in touch, old man," he huffed, moving away so Hoenheim would have room to put on his shoes.

"Thank you," his father replied simply. "Take care of yourself and stay out of real trouble."

He didn't wave as the figure made its way down the dusty road, but he stayed leaning against the doorway for a moment and watched.

_Stop acting like the other bastard._

-x-

He juggled the receiver with his shoulder as he waited.

"March 23 just like you said, Brother," Al's voice confirmed, tinny through the telephone and he suppressed a shudder.

"Thanks, Al."

"What do you want me to look up next?"

"Al, you should be resting, not—"

"I'm _fine_, Brother, and walking to the library to look through old newspapers for you is good exercise. Besides, it makes me feel better because I'm helping." The last was so soft he almost didn't hear it through the fuzzy connection.

"Al--"

"So, what's next?"

"…okay, do you have anything from two days ago about the yellow dog and the vase in Rustfall?"

A bit of rustling; Risembul's tiny library was more of a storage shack cobbled together by remodeling some old offices complete with telephones still in place; the librarians didn't particularly care if someone used them as long as there weren't too many other people about.

"…the yellow dog is still in the west, Brother; he never left."

Silence.

"Brother, are you alright?"

So Colonel Kasson had not left for Rustfall. Images of panicked men running, shouting, a mad scramble for weapons, sudden cries of surprised pain, began to fade from his mind. He should be worried, now that he'd decided to pursue this path, but oddly enough, the revelation filled him with relief.

_It's changing, it's changing, I don't know in which way, but something's happening, we're on even ground now and it's _my_ game again—_

He quashed the tremor in his hand by gripping the receiver harder. "Yeah Al, I'm great."

-x-

He would be home for a few short days in Risembul, and after being dragged into the shop so Winry could check over her latest creation, he'd finally had a chance to bring his luggage upstairs to the room he and Al shared in the Rockbell residence.

There were pages scattered across the floor of the room and he picked them up absently, soft smile on his face at the sight of Al sprawled across the bed fast asleep, worn out from their trip outside the house this afternoon. He straightened the edges of the papers and was depositing them in a stack on the small desk in the bedroom when the array on the top page caught his eye.

Two steps took him to the bed, a third and he was shaking Al's shoulder.

Al looked up, blinked sleepily,_ that smile, he could die for that smile,_ then frowned at the expression on his face.

"Brother, what's wrong?" Al pushed himself into a sitting position.

Wordlessly, he handed the stack of notes over, jabbing at the array.

"Why, Al? How long…was it the Gate, did it show you something, too?"

Al carefully removed the pages from his shaking hands. "A long time, Brother." Al's eyes lowered. "When I was in the armor…at night…we both knew it might happen one day, the armor might reject my soul…and being what I was, I would wonder…if I would need to…" He looked up, hazel eyes pained. "It's not your fault, Ed, it really isn't, I just wanted to write everything out, see how far it could go so I could forget about it…or maybe help in cases where soul alchemy is misused." He finished in a whisper.

He knew the military could make great use of arrays like these if they weren't following this line of research already. It was dangerous, could be horribly misused…but if they learned more about soul alchemy, even just theoretical basics and mechanisms, it could also be applied to undoing some of the horrors they'd seen.

Like chimeras.

He closed his eyes for a moment.

"Promise me Al, promise me--"

"No promises, Brother," Al whispered. "But I know what my life is worth and I won't abuse that."

He closed his eyes again, one heartbeat, two, then opened them.

Moving to sit beside Al on the bed, he picked up one of the pages of notes at random. It was brilliant really; brilliant and beautiful, graceful curves intersecting in intricate loops to form the full array. Al was a true artist in all senses of the word, and he traced a finger across a swoop thoughtfully before clearing his throat.

"There might need to be an extra ring at the outer edge to bleed off the rebound," he managed without croaking.

Al shifted closer to his brother and dug his chin into Ed's shoulder as he snagged another sheet from the middle of the pile.

"I think, depending on the strength on the alchemy and what we've already seen, the vessel housing a soul can temporarily substitute as a "body"; I've got an array here that might work for transferring only a part of the soul or soul energy; I think the soul may be able to control the vessel it's been sent into if neither the soul or the vessel recognize it as foreign. There are implications to this that might have applications because it's less risky than transferring a soul all at once and it should be easier to adjust to but there might be a problem with splitting from the original host and it's all theory right now—"

He petted Al's hair roughly as he considered Al's ideas, and Al dug his chin into his shoulder again, silently giving his thanks.

-x-

Mustang was so much easier to read up close, he'd realized. The man continued to never let on more than he could, but up close he now knew what it meant when Mustang's left hand strayed to his pocket, when his eyes would flick before he smiled, what it meant when his palm curved up, and what orders would tend to be issued if his palm curved down. They had always been there, the pieces of an array he hadn't previously bothered to read, and he wondered how Mustang managed to piece together so many others when so often he still felt he had no clue what even this one was saying.

"You look terrible," he prodded, digging for the reason the man had become even more tight-strung the last few days.

Mustang smiled then, a fond open smile, and he saw it, a flash in the back of dark eyes, strong and determined and resigned. "I'm fine, Fullmetal."

He took the offered tray of chess pieces silently, chewing at his lip. There was something too familiar in that gaze, but the pieces from the Gate no longer connected and he could not guess the source.

"I know you've just returned from Star City, but there's a case I think you'd like to look into in Alembic." The colonel snagged a folder from the top of the pile. "It might tie in to the possible rebel group along the south border you've been trying to track down."

"Yeah, yeah, more work," he snorted, flipping the folder open and rifling through the contents. "Hey, wait, wasn't this supposed to fall under General Wichar's jurisdiction?"

"He agreed that you are better suited for the task being an alchemist. But yes, report to him first after you have returned."

His eyes raised, then narrowed, but the colonel's gave nothing more away.

-x-

He waited in the shadowy corner of the steps outside Mustang's house for a moment, checking for anyone who might be listening or following, then with a conscious straightening of his spine, he slipped silently down the road. A jumbled meeting with Hughes where both of them had been worriedly throwing hints out to each other had sent him racing for Mustang's house; he tried not to think about how he'd almost been a step too late, and it was the Gate's fault, but he was here to stop mistakes before they happened—

Mustang had held his eyes a long moment before he'd left, and he wasn't fourteen, not fourteen anymore, he was sure, sure on what he'd decided, and Mustang had sighed and given him a lopsided little smile.

There were a lot of things he needed to do tomorrow. Things to do, people to see; time was limited and every minute counted now. First he needed to visit old Daggett, then the place behind Main Street…

-x-

He scanned the scenery outside the window blandly; Bradley obviously distrusted him enough to keep him in the same vehicle under close watch, _or maybe he was only being toyed with like a mouse in a trap_, but the presence of the guards, required as a precaution, probably prevented the Fuhrer from explaining his deal before they reached their destination.

A secret meeting with the top brass. At the Fuhrer's vacation mansion near the outskirts of Central. Where no one was likely to interrupt, reinforcements would be difficult to call in, circumstances would be difficult to explain without the scrutiny of regulations, and where a body was unlikely to be found.

They were counting on it working both ways.

Edward had promised a distraction; a group of western rebels that apparently had the same ideas for halting the war that he'd had and would be extremely pleased to hear about Amestris' leader taking a small retreat with lowered security. Joining them might also be several names (_and their likely hapless underlings_) from the military, which according to Edward _(and his own sources)_ would be quite gleeful at the prospect of scoring a promotion by saving the Fuhrer from a terrorist attack. Colonel Junet, at least, Roy was sure, would be especially happy if he could do so at Roy's expense.

They needed a commotion, something to muddle up the story of what really happened, and Roy was certain anyone in the military would usually be more than happy to accommodate on that front if it could save their own skins. Not to mention the purpose of these secret meetings had remained secret since they'd started; he didn't think the higher ups would want _that_ exposed if they no longer had anyone behind them to fall back on. With luck, _ha_, by the end of the night, the true story of what had happened would be so mangled it would never be completely pieced together.

Edward's confidence had faltered as he'd admitted to being unsure how much manpower he would actually be able to muster and the inability to predict or relay any movements due to the limited time left, but the simple fact that Edward had done, had been willing, was still willing to do, this, all, it; had already left him humbled, stunned and shamed and grateful and breathless as he hadn't been since his team had first sworn to follow him.

The mansion became visible between the trees, and he felt the familiar adrenaline rush as all his senses came fully awake for battle. There would be no time left to think in a moment, they were getting close to where Edward assumed the ambush would be located-- there was a whistle, an explosion—_he was impressed despite himself by the rebel firepower_--and the cars had stopped, one overturned, there were soldiers and generals scrambling and more soldiers that would have a lot of explaining to do on what exactly they were doing here if they didn't actually manage to protect the Fuhrer-- and there was shouting for them to take shelter by the vehicle but more attackers were closing in—

He took the Fuhrer by the arm, tugging the man in the direction of the mansion.

"Let's get you out of here, sir!"

_Stay away, Ed; stay away and take care of yourself. You shouldn't have to see._

-x-

He was in uniform for once, or rather, _a_ uniform, his disguise, hair under a cap and Winry's creations hidden with sleeves and pants and boots and gloves.

He'd debated wearing the armor if he was supposed to be in disguise, but it was too exposed without a weapon, and he was not prepared to use a gun. He was here to stay out of the way mostly, quietly try to direct everything where it was supposed to go—

A scramble and he was out of the way of his latest assailant; the right glove, _damn_, had come off, caught in the bushes, but as long as he was not yet forced to transmute, no one was likely to notice the Fullmetal Alchemist's presence in this mess; the bigger problem was that he couldn't seem to find Mustang.

The man could take care of himself…do what needed to be done…

_The blade whistles shrilly, springs, and it's through the thigh this time and into the wall behind and the face under the eyepatch is mocking, contemptuous—_

_No._ He hadn't been lying, he'd used up all his freebies, the course had changed and he no longer knew for sure what would happen, half of it had likely been his imagination in the first place, stupid Gate scrambling things up--

_The Fuhrer removed the eyepatch but the eye was always in shadows no matter how many times the dream repeated and the sword was pulled out, scraping against bone—_

There had been several figures that had scattered soon after the first attack; they'd likely all been chased down by now—

Flames in a cellar. Shadows. Walls. He didn't, shouldn't know anymore, _shouldn't_. _It wasn't supposed to actually come down to this, dammit!_

Mustang was nowhere to be seen.

_What were you expecting?_

With a curse, he dodged another blow and returned one to the other man's ribs. Swearing under his breath, he hurried off in the direction of the mansion.

-x-

"Thank you for your concern, Colonel Mustang, but I think we can all drop the act now."

The blade had been drawn, was out and lashing smoothly across where his unprotected side had been exposed only a split second earlier before the man had even started speaking.

He rolled up from the grass and snapped before quickly rolling again, the Fuhrer's blade scoring the ground where he'd been crouched.

"Very impressive. As was your little diversion back there. Unfortunately, that implies you have no interest in joining me, and I shall now have to put an end to this little problem."

-x-

He cleared the wooded area and pounded across the open ground in front of the mansion. He could see Mustang and the Fuhrer fighting now; it wasn't that far, really, from the skirmish he'd left behind, but the woods had been blocking the view of the building. Mustang had probably hoped to get somewhere more confined, where it would be easier to control his alchemy, and both the colonel and the Fuhrer had likely been waiting until they were out of view of onlookers to attack.

Almost upon them now, he saw the scorch marks on the ground, a large patch of charred earth where Mustang had likely tried to roast his opponent by surrounding him with fire from all sides, and pieces from a partially collapsed wall of the building, results of what might have been an explosion.

He reached them just in time to see Mustang receive a deep gash to the leg; the colonel didn't stop attacking with his flames, but Ed had never seen anything move as fast as Fuhrer did, not even the long-haired homunculi in Dante's base. Mustang stumbled then, and he wondered if he should attack now, despite the distance still being too great to offer any real advantages, because if Mustang went down the man would likely never get a chance to get up.

He saw Mustang slip, fumble; the Fuhrer's sword poised to sweep down, then a wall of flames eight feet high as Mustang braced his faltering leg and snapped again.

He was close enough now; still at a run, he slammed his palms together, dipping low for the ground, but before his palms could make contact there was a sharp cry, and startled, he looked up.

"Don't move, Elric." The Fuhrer's voice was oddly calm; his clothes were smoking and the wall of fire behind him was lower now, dying off without artificial manipulation of the atmosphere. Mustang was breathing harshly, half kneeling, right glove shredded, the Fuhrer's blade run clear through his shoulder and out his back. Ed pretended to stumble forward, arms outstretched to catch himself, but the Fuhrer pulled the blade sharply downward, and Mustang gave a strangled scream.

They held their poses for a shuddering moment, then Roy gripped the blade protruding from his shoulder with a bloody hand and yelled hoarsely, "Go!"

The Fuhrer raised his other hand deliberately, and Ed watched with slow horror as it darkened and lengthened into claws. "You know my kind, Elric." Bradley was watching him intently, and from the corner of his eye, Ed saw Mustang scrabbling. The razor-like claws whipped around, pressed against Mustang's throat as the Fuhrer calmly pulled the blade out and Mustang sank to his knees with a choked cry.

"I have to thank you, I suppose, for getting rid of my master. It's been much easier to do things the way I wanted now that she is no longer watching my every move." He sighed dramatically. "I'd hoped to convince you to join me as well, Elric, but I might need to alter my methods now. Drop the automail, boy, or the colonel dies."

Automail? Bradley didn't realize he no longer had automail? It was only armor now—

Armor.

Mustang looked up at him then, mouth opened to speak, but then his eyes tightened and he bowed his head, looking away.

And he knew what Roy wanted to say, was going to say, and Mustang was a bastard, bastard, three times a bastard, but he hadn't asked, had not spoken, and for that alone, everything, it was worth it.

_If things don't work out, you'd better look after Al for me._

He moved his left hand slowly to his right, knowing Bradley would run Mustang through if there was even a hint of alchemy, and carefully pressed the release on the armor. Stretching the fingers of his right hand forward, he pressed them gently against the inside of the metal, releasing the energy from his previously halted transmutation. He pictured the array, the beautiful, dangerous array, visualized every sweep and curve in his mind. There was a muted flash of blue, not enough to be noticed from outside the armor, and the tiny array imprinted itself onto the inner side of the steel, fully activated. He felt a warm rush down his arm, then shocking cold as his finger left the array, but he was still standing, albeit dizzily, which was probably a good sign. A second pulse of alchemy, circling from where his hand joined his arm at the armor, and a second array, still fresh from memory, drained the feeling from his arm as the energy traced into the armor, waiting. Hiding a grimace with a curse, he fumbled clumsily, removing the armor as his left side started to go numb as well.

_Not good; this needed to be fast._

Holding the armor in front of him, and ignoring the way Bradley had started and was shifting towards him warily at the sight of his right arm, he tossed the metal shell forward, onto the ground.

_Here goes nothing._

There was a clank upon impact, and his reaction, pent up, quickly completed itself upon contact with a surface. The homunculus binding array that had imprisoned Lust formed itself into the earth, sending dirt flying, and if the second part of his plan didn't work, Mustang would at least be able to activate the array. Bradley growled and sprang at him, but he was pushing now, or pulling, he couldn't tell, split in two places at once, echoing in layers, and it was odd, detached, but he could feel it—and through the edge of where a metal palm had landed across the newly formed array, a surge, surge of familiar power, but no longer connected, and the fragment of his soul bound to the armor flared in delight as the array under it activated in a swell of blue—and he was rushing, rushing into the array, _what happened?_ He could see the array, feel the array all around him, he _was_ the array and he was racing through the outer circle, swerving into a spiral, flinging himself giddily out of a sharp turn and loop, and he saw the grass, earth, Mustang, stone; tasted the cry of outrage that rang from the Fuhrer's lips as the homunculi found himself sealed and unable to move, and Mustang was snapping, snapping, snapping, and the air scorched toward him, his body, he could feel it _but he was seeing it from outside his body?_ in a fiery rush before the flames stopped, three feet in front of his nose as the blaze in the center of the array swirled upward in sheets of blue, obscuring the two figures in the center of it from sight as he felt himself dragged into the vortex.

He wondered, dazedly, as _he? his soul?_ wove through the array that Mustang's alchemy was good, but he shouldn't be _that_ good, the present conditions simply should not have been able to allow flames of that magnitude. Or maybe he was passing out from oxygen deprivation, everything was spinning in a riot of bright circles.

The flames flickered wildly, licking the sky, and he realized suddenly what it was. Mustang was inside the array, and the Stones inside Bradley, frozen, potential exposed in the space of the array for whatever use Dante had deemed worthy, were being used to fuel Mustang's alchemy. The same way the Stones had fueled his own alchemical reaction back in Dante's mansion before the Gate array had channeled it for its own.

He could make out he was actually seeing double now, one view from his body which seemed to be swaying alarmingly, glimpses of what was going past as his soul continued circling inside the array; Mustang on his knees, clutching his shoulder, the Stones inside the Fuhrer cracking and melting into a sticky brown sludge as everything else was turned to ashes. The flames died as the Stones disintegrated, and with a slam that hit him everywhere at the same time and caused his vision to go black, the fragment of his soul returned as he collapsed and his hand brushed against the edge of the array.

-x-

"Mustang."

The man looked dead, collapsed in a bloody heap, and he stumbled forward on shaky legs wondering how long he'd been out.

Dark eyes fluttered open and his legs gave on his last step, sending him to his knees.

"Edward." A disbelieving whisper. "You're alive."

"Of course I am you idiot, you didn't think--"

"I burned the house," Mustang continued in a hoarse croak. "Rebels took on more than they could handle, the mansion was torched."

Ed gaped at him a moment and a fist swung forward before he remembered himself and settled for ripping out a clod of blackened earth.

"Dammit you bastard, you had the sense to torch the house but didn't think to do something about your wounds, don't you _dare_ die on me you asshole!"

He reached forward roughly, trying not to panic, he needed bandages, he needed to stop the bleeding, god, he hoped Hughes had picked up on the clues he'd left that morning and help was on the way—

"Not planning to." Mustang's eyes fluttered shut. "Demand…explanation…for this," he managed before passing out.

-x-

He wanted to shift further upright at the familiar slam of the door, but it had taken most of what strength he'd had to struggle to his current position. He still managed to raise a practiced eyebrow in a manner suggesting he was looking down at the intruder despite the disadvantage of being confined to a bed, but Edward only snorted in that inelegant way of his and matched the eyebrow with one of his own.

"You shouldn't be up. Doc Patterson's going to throw a fit."

"Unlike you, Fullmetal, I have permission and I don't try to make the good doctor throw fits on purpose. I would really prefer not to annoy him too much as he is a very valuable ally in our current situation."

Sharp white teeth flashed for a moment before Edward replied, "I'm fine. Doc says I'm good to go, there wasn't anything wrong with me in the first place."

Roy silently wondered how many of the outpatient negotiations had occurred behind the doctor's back or by pulling rank, but he could greatly sympathize with the young man's impatience.

"You're always so big on me getting reports in on time, I thought you'd appreciate getting my summary of what's been happening outside." A toothy grin, and he winced and waited. "According to the newspapers and the grape vine, we learned of the terrorist plan but were unsuccessful in stopping it. You were injured when attempting to stop the well-organized terrorist plot on short notice. Apparently, you'd also been on the special panel dealing with the situation in the west, and despite being unable to attend the current negotiations, many of the ideas you previously proposed were apparently very successful in helping to set up this round of talks. It's going around that some of those plans and the ideas submitted to the higher ups by Hawkeye and the others were crucial in preventing what might have become a full blown war, and you are, at the moment, very highly regarded by the public."

"That was Hughes' doing," Roy murmured with a sigh. "They were supposed to have taken any possible credit for themselves to prevent backlash." Edward raised an eyebrow at this and his lips thinned, but Roy continued before the other could start.

Sinking back against the pillow, he let his eyes close slightly against the sunlight streaming through the window. "So what are your plans?"

Fullmetal frowned for a moment and picked up one of the files Roy had been reading before the young man's intrusion. "Al and I will be heading out to catch up with our old man; I don't think he knew about Bradley either, and with three of us we should be able to scour through Dante's stuff faster."

He nodded; it was as he'd expected, and while a part of him insisted that any research the Elrics recovered should be looked over first for possible categorization, he really had no right to demand anything on the matter, and he trusted the judgment and discretion of the Elric brothers and the reputation of Hoenheim of Light to balance things out. "Your resignation forms are ready; I'll tell Lieutenant Hawkeye to change the dates on the first page and submit it later this afternoon, everything else should already be in order."

Had been in order since Ed had first reappeared.

The file Edward was holding was slapped down hard against the hospital covers, and he blinked, startled. Edward was glaring at him, and the young man scowled viciously before continuing. "You are the slowest learner I've ever met, Mustang, me included. After we're done with that part, Al thinks he wants to stay in Central for a bit. There's research we're both interested in and Granny Pinako thinks it would do Winry good to try some work in a big city to get some experience as well. There are things you still want to do even though your ass is currently out of the fire and General What'shisname doesn't seem likely to follow Bradley's example as the next Fuhrer, and there are things I still want to do. As you are apparently too thick-headed to figure out when you are being stupid, I suppose I'll just have to join up with Hughes and the others to make sure you're getting things done right. And don't look so surprised, I keep my promises."

_Promises? Wha-when?_

But a laugh was bubbling out of him, uncontrolled, and he tried to stifle it because it pulled at all his wounds and that hurt, but damn, it was good to be alive.

"Thank you," he managed when he could breathe again, ignoring the way Fullmetal's hand hovered outstretched in concern.

_I'll be keeping my promises, too._

"I'm assuming you're taking the 3:20 train to Risembul?"

He preened silently at Fullmetal's startled look; some things were too good to change. Stiffly moving the files out of sight beneath the extra blanket Riza would be taking away later in the afternoon, he gestured to the small stand next to the bed.

"Open the top drawer would you, Edward?"

Ed did as asked and pulled out a chess set in surprise.

"Breda brought it in yesterday," he explained. "Think you have time for a game?"

There was a soft smile as the young man spread the board and began arranging the pieces.

"Sure."


End file.
